


Selfish Deeds, Selfless Acts

by ASOUEfan



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Consensual, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Light D/s but thats just Olafs usual, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Masturbation, Sort Of, Violet initiates, lots of cleaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Count Olaf torments the Baudelaires and singles out Violet. Denied sleep, food, and separated from her siblings, he quickly gives her extra cleaning and gardening duty to force her, compliance. Klaus is horrified at what Olaf demands of her.Violet finds her voice and decides sometimes, one must be selfish to survive.Violet initiated, consensual.( Set during 'A Bad Beginning' and all the Baudelaires cleaning duty ... the Marvellous Marriage hasn't yet been thought of. )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've used the odd line from the show for added realism/to sound more in character, I think its just Klaus's "you only provided us with one bed" phrase, but as always, no copyright infringement intended etc etc

 

Violet wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing grime and dirt into her sweat soaked brow. “How long as it been?” She asked idly of her brother, sitting back on her haunches briefly. They had been cleaning for so long it seemed like forever, and the ballroom was no cleaner. Violet sighed and leant back over, kneeling on all fours as she scrubbed the edge of where the floor met the skirting board. 

Klaus looked up from where he was digging grime out from behind the pipework with a toothbrush. “How long has what been?” He had never seen his sister look so worn down, the spark in her barely lit. 

“That we’ve lived with Count Olaf?” She clarified, flicking her hair over one shoulder and out of the way as she worked. Her back ached from the constant bending over, scrubbing and rubbing and scratching with the hard-bristled brush across the wooden floor. She thought of what a warm deep bath would feel like on her muscles, her shoulders sinking as she remembered they had only one grimy bathroom with little in the way of working appliances, at their disposal. 

“I’m not sure. Each day seems imperceptibly long but, only a few weeks. If I had a calendar I could know for sure,” He answered, clear and analytical. It was strange the things he found he missed the most, such as calendars and clocks, notebooks and pencil sharpeners. Things you would never think to miss until your access to them was gone. 

The doors to the ballroom swung open and banged against their hinges with a theatrical flourish. Violet jumped, instinctively knowing who it was without looking, her hand pausing in its work but not moving an inch. She wanted him to see how they were all working, _still working_ , and that there was no reason to punish them. “Are you finished, _Orphans_?” Count Olaf sneered, looking around the ballroom with disgust. “You don't look finished.” 

Klaus dropped his arm to his side, frustrated with the constant ridiculous demands. “There is years worth of dirt caked on everything.” He glanced to his sister working, dunking her brush in the metal mop bucket and carrying on. He had to stop this. “You can’t expect us to have it clean in a few hours.” 

“Weeeebratotjsk,” Sunny babbled, throwing her rag down emphatically. 

Count Olaf rolled his eyes dramatically as he waltzed further into the room to inspect their work. “If you don’t stop her doing that I will forced to buy her a muzzle, because the sound, her tiny screeching voice makes - “

“What my sister said is she wants a break,” Violet spoke up, interpreting for Sunny. Looking up from the floor Count Olaf seemed so tall, looming formidably as he narrowed his eyes and one eyebrow at her angrily. 

He lifted his foot and balanced it on the edge of Violets mop bucket, then kicked it over with a hollow clang, spreading the dirty water back all over the floor.  “But you’re not done,” Count Olaf said slowly, his laugh rattling evilly in his chest. 

Klaus grit his teeth at their mistreatment. The air was tense and dangerous, and he didn't like it when Olaf focused his wrath on any of them individually, as if by singling them out he could pick them off one by one until they were all beaten down as much as the other, with no spark to fight back. 

Her heart just sank quietly, seeing her effort wasted with a single cruel motion. Her cheeks flared but just as she was about to break into a dialogue of how poor a Guardian he was, that they didn't deserve this and that he should leave them be, his foot came up again and kicked her hard in the waist, knocking her off balance and falling from her knees on to her hands and ass into the grimy water with a splash. She turned, sitting on her ass leaning back on her hands knees pulled up like she could try to scuttle backwards and away from him should he lift his foot to her again, but she just sat there in trembling devastation. 

“How could you do that?!” Klaus shouted, rushing to his sisters aide but Count Olaf held his finger up and pointed at him, telling him to stay back. 

Count Olaf stepped lightly in the water, his footsteps barely making a ripple in the murky puddle. Violet cowered away just a little, which caught his eye. “Go then, to your beds! You have 30 minutes before I send someone to collect you again for work duty,” He barked at Klaus, who picked up Sunny quickly. “I cant stand the sight of you anymore anyway.”

“Don’t you mean bed? You only provided us with one, bed,” Klaus argued back, in a rare show of strength. He held out his hand to Violet, to help her up and out of her humiliation. 

Count Olaf took another slow, but pointed step forwards, treading purposefully on the edge of her dress. Violet stared at his foot next to her thigh, then up to him, her chest tightening. “Violet will join you when she's mopped up this mess,” Olaf announced in an official for of fashion. He was not one to pass up an opportunity to practise his skills as a great and handsome actor. 

Klaus stared incredulously, clutching Sunny to him still. “I’m not letting you split us up.” 

Violet arched her back to crane her neck around, staring at her brother imploringly. “It’s okay, just go.” 

“See, she _wants_ to stay and work!” Olaf laughed with a toothy grin, waving Klaus and Sunny away dismissively. 

Her brother didn’t move straight away, but her eyes pleaded with him. They needed to rest and Sunny was only small. Violet knew she could go a little longer and join them once Olaf had satisfied whatever game he had in mind. They had the conversation silently, through their eyes, in that perceptive way siblings can do when you have spent enough time in close confines. Words are not always needed to understand. So Klaus conceded, and nodded. 

After he and Sunny left, closing the door behind them which he had not wanted to do, but Olaf’s glare was enough to tell him so, Olaf turned his attention onto the eldest Baudelaire sibling. “How very noble of you, sacrificing yourself so they can flee to safety,” He sang, making little running gestures with his fingers theatrically describing Klaus and Sunny’s exit as though running from battle. 

“Its just a bit of cleaning,” Violet said indignantly. 

He stamped his foot forward suddenly, right between her legs and making her jump back but _in his mind_ , quite cleverly stepped on the back of her dress so as she tried to jump back she slid to a stop, her feet scrabbling in the water either side of his leather shoe. There was something oddly intimate about the move, not just his usual posturing. She sat forwards quickly shoving the front of her dress down to keep herself covered, her cheeks blooming shamefully as her distress boiled up inside of her. He leaned over slowly, arms tucked behind his back as he brought his face close to hers. “Thats what _you_ think.”

She shivered, but defiantly tore her eyes away to stare stubbornly at the water. 

“I on the other hand, think your … _talents_ are better served elsewhere,” He murmured, reaching his hand around her upper arm and yanking her to her feet. She tugged away trying to wrench her arm from his grasp. “Follow me - “ He instructed, dragging her with him not giving her much of an option. 

She stumbled along beside him, her balance and co-ordination out of sync with his steps. “Where are you taking me?” Her legs felt chilly with the back of her dress wet and flapping on her thighs, her panties were wet too but she didn't want to think about that. They had no change of clothes and right now she couldn't take them off to dry them, so she would have to deal with it. 

“To somewhere that hasn’t had the love and care of young woman for some time,” He replied vaguely, leading her up the stairs to the first floor and a grand looking entrance way in front of a large wooden door. “My bedroom.” 

Her eyes widened in panic as he opened the door and tossed her inside, taking a few stumbling steps before she came to a halt. The bedroom was an untidy mess of clothes and bottles, a large mirrored vanity table with a confusing array of clothes and make up held half drunk glasses of wine in amongst the wigs and theatrical supplies. His bed was a tangle of sheets and bedclothes, the curtains half drawn, and bathed the room in a dusty dusk like aura. A small en-suite could be seen through a door to her right, which she didn't want to look in. “There is clearly a lot to be done, so chop chop.” He clapped his hands and turned to leave her again, but she hurried after him. 

“I am _not_ cleaning your bedroom for you,” She yanked his shirt and pulled him to a stop. He whirled round incredulously at her but she was defiant. “That wasn’t on the list you gave us.” There was no way she was going to be responsible for sorting out and washing years worth of clothes and rugs and everything he had so carelessly left to decay. “I’ll literally clean anything else - “

“Rrrghh my God why must you always complain!” He stamped his foot clutching his hands to his head as if the noise was physically painful to his ears. “You’ll do what I say or I’ll think of something worse and believe me girl I can think of far _far worse I could do with you,”_ He warned her darkly. 

Her head spun dizzily, his threat ringing in her ears. Her hand fell from his shirt and nodded compliantly. 

Count Olaf sniffed in a deep breath and drew tall, admiring her obedience, even if it took a little while to get there. “Good.” 

She didn't see him go, for although her eyes looked ahead, she wasn’t really, _looking_ at anything. It was only the door being pulled into its frame and the ever-familiar sound of a key scraping through a lock that brought her to. She was locked in Count Olafs bedroom. She turned slowly around to face the disaster of a room and wondered where she should start. She closed her eyes, slipping the silk ribbon from her wrist she tied up her hair to think. 

Prioritise. Focus. Put everything else out of your mind. 

She started with the clothes, wanting to pinch her nose for most of it, but she found that after the first few dusty sweaty shirts that the smell sort of blended into the background. She piled up everything she could find from around the bed, the bathroom floor, and what hung out the wardrobe looking lost in one big pile in the corner, pleased that it already looked tidier. She stripped the bed and tried to not wonder what the stains were as she peeled the sheet off the mattress, adding them too to the pile. She flung the curtains wide and opened the windows desperate to let some air into the musty room, even if it was windy out. She would need to organise everything for when he returned, for she couldn't wash anything or put the many and varied wine bottles and glasses in the kitchen to clean if she was locked in. So for now they were just ordered by the door in neat rows, once she had poured the vestiges from each receptacle away in the bathroom. 

She had been working solidly for some time, unable to really tell how much time was passing but had felt like longer than the 30 minutes he had promised her siblings. She stuck her head out the window to see the sun have moved significantly across the sky, though hidden behind clouds she could make out the glowing disk and estimate the time as at least a few hours. Taking one of the cleaner looking glasses, she rinsed it in the bathroom sink and then filled it with water to quench her thirst. She downed two whole glasses before pausing, remembering her stained and wet dress. Could she take it off to dry? How long did she have? No, there was no telling when he would return and she had dealt with it this long. Her underwear however, was decidedly uncomfortable. 

She set the glass down on the sink and toying with the bathroom door, took a deep breath and shut it. Perhaps she could hide her panties in amongst his washing, put the whole lot in to soak and he would never know. She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering what was becoming of her. Her features were already etched with dirt and her hair straggled loosely from its ponytail. Best not to remind yourself, she thought, and focused on what she had to do. Reaching under the skirt of her dress, she hooked her fingers into her panties and pulled them down her legs, stepping her feet side to side out of them and crouching to pick them up. 

When she was down there she noticed a small door opposite the sink, and curiously opened it. It was a cupboard with various toiletries in, perfumes, shaving cream, a switch-blade and brushes and combs of various sorts, which she pulled out one by one to examine. Behind them was a square pile of flannels. They looked clean and folded neatly. She picked one off the top and gave it a cautionary sniff. Definitely clean. She wondered if he had forgotten this cupboard was here. She dropped one knee down to crouch more steadily, reaching the flannel under her dress and between her legs to dry off her damp thighs, and in-between. It felt odd, but good to get clean. There was little opportunity for privacy in their shared bathroom and certainly not to fully wash.  

“Violet?” She heard his voice call through the room, and the clink of glass as he likely knocked her rows of bottles over. 

She hastily stuffed the bottles and toiletries back inside the small cupboard with a rattle, wincing at the noise and gasping as he opened the bathroom door just as she shut the cupboard. She quickly stood, clutching her panties behind her back. She remained there, still and tense and peering up at him fearfully, like someone caught in the act of something she should not be doing, which was exactly what she had been doing. 

“There you are. What are you doing in here?” He demanded, flicking his eyes around the bathroom for sign of wrongdoing. 

“I needed some water,” She replied as calmly as she could muster, gesturing to the glass on the sink. 

He grunted, seemingly accepting the answer. She breathed out lightly, but the relief didn't last long. Olaf stared perceptibly down at her, and didn’t move from the doorway. He untucked his hands from behind his back, only to hold it out in front of him as though parent to a child. “Give it to me,” He chewed slowly. He had no idea what it was she could be hiding behind her back, but there was something. And _something_ , for a scheming Orphan, was enough to cause him trouble; or at the very least letting her keep it would make her think he was easy to fool, which he was not. “Now,” His reiterated, his words more emphatic. 

Violet shook her head. “No its not yours.”  

“Everything in this house is mine, including you, and whatever it is you are hiding in your hand,” He said with increasing frustration, his voice rising in volume and tempo and throwing his arms up around him as if demonstrating that the very walls beside them belonged to him. 

She didn’t move, biting her bottom lip nervously as she gave a quick glance around the bathroom for a solution. There was _no way_ she was giving him her dirty underwear, the thought of him having something so personal of hers was repulsive. She should never have taken them off in the first place. Thinking she could get away with it, avoid the embarrassment of hanging them up in their little attic room to air dry, as though Klaus seeing them was more awkward than the risk of getting caught. She wished she wasn’t so stupid to make such a mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

“Give it to me!” He bellowed at her inaction, grabbing her in both hands and wrenching her out the confines of the bathroom, gripping one arm round her chest and tucking his hand under her arm to hold her back against him, moving with her struggling but never loosening his grip. 

“Get off!” She shrieked, kicking her legs in the air and keeping her fist gripped together tightly. He had a secure hold of her and with a strong unyielding determination found her wrist and wrestled it out from behind her back. He had gone silent as he did it, focused entirely on his task which disconcerted Violet even more. He hauled her over to the bedside and fearing the worst she panicked, fighting and twisting with a startled scream. “No!” 

Instead he smacked her hand against the wooden beside table, trying to force her grip to release. Bringing her hand down against it again, she cried out in pain, over and over he hit her wrist and hand on the edge of the wood until her grip went weak, forcing her hand open. Her body went limp, hanging in his arms as she watched her panties drop to the floor. He smiled victoriously to himself, roughly tossing her aside as he bent down to select his prize from the rug. “Well … well… well,” He grinned, holding the damp cotton thing in the air as he stood back up, examining it from all angles. What a marvellous prize he had been awarded. “Violet, you do surprise me.”

“They’re the only ones I have, I just wanted to wash them out,” She growled from the floor, pushing up onto her feet again and brushing herself off. “Seeing as you pushed me in a muddy puddle earlier.” 

“Ohhh… was that what you were doing?” He laughed, much preferring to believe his own version of events. “Finding yourself alone, in the bedroom of a handsome and world famous actor, you thought it best to remove your underwear just as I come through the door? Your actions paint a very different story my dear,” He bundled up the material into his fist and brought them to his nose, sniffing her underwear and shutting his eyes at the deliciousness of her sweet scent. 

She recoiled, shuddering and looking away. “You’re disgusting.” 

He slipped them in his pocket as he turned to her, stalking around her curiously. He had seen potential in her before, and teasing her brother with such salacious thoughts was one of his more exploitative means of control. Perhaps, there was fun to be had here. He reached up and delicately pulled at the ribbon, undoing the bow and causing her hair to tumble freely around her shoulders once again. “You say that, but I’m not the one removing my underwear.” 

Violet rooted herself to the spot, and told herself not to react. She felt the ribbon, her ribbon, slide around her throat and his hands curling it over his knuckles at either side. “What are you doing?” 

“I was just imagining a different use for this ribbon, around your beautiful neck,” He murmured, tugging the ribbon back slowly, putting pressure on her throat and forcing her to tip her head back and lean against him. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed her in, letting his eyes fall shut and enjoy the moment he would likely never have again. He purred and replaced the ribbon with his hand instead, cradling her throat tightly in his palm. 

“I know what you were imagining,” She whimpered, balling her fist to try and hit him, but the way his hot breath warmed the side of her neck caused an unwelcome tightening in her belly.

He hummed, licking his lips as he stroked her neck just enough that she didn't dare move, only faint echoes of what he could do if he wished. “You know you could stay with me, once you turned 18. I wouldn’t, dispose of you like your brother and sister.” He grew a little bolder, touching his hand lightly to her hip. Oh, how she fit in the palm of his hand. 

Violet tore herself away and turned to face him, folding her arms tightly over herself. “Klaus will figure something out, we’re not going to stay with you and we’re not giving you our parents fortune.” 

Olaf sighed that their moment together was over, making do with playing her hair ribbon between his fingers as he spoke. “Yes that pesky brother of yours and his dangerous book reading habit. We’ll just have to see about keeping you two separated a little longer, won’t we.” 

“No …,” She begged softly. Klaus would be sick with worry already that she hadn’t come back, she couldn't bear the thought of him pacing about the attic room not knowing where she was. The house was plenty big enough that if Count Olaf wanted, he could keep them from crossing paths for days. 

“Don’t act so rebellious. It just makes taming you all the more fun,” He snarked, yanking the door open and yelling down the hallway. “Hooky!” 

She marched forwards, biting back at him. “I’m not an animal you need to tame, I’m a person - ! ” She said emphatically, “And you wont get away with this!” 

The Hook handed Man appeared in the doorway with an amicable smile. “Yes Boss?” 

Olaf gestured to her with a wave. “Take this Orphan outside and have her weed the garden, trim the bushes and .. whatever else needs to be done to make it look perfect,” He instructed, enjoying the sour look on her face when she realised there would be ever more chores to keep her busy and away from her bratty siblings. With or without underwear. 

“Yes Boss.” He snapped his hooks together before hooking them in her dress to escort her to the high walled garden. 

They had been out there before to chop wood, so she knew what state it was in and there was no way she could simply do the weeding and it look better. The walls of the yard and the house itself were covered in tendrils of dying ivy that would need pulling down, bushes and trees that had not been seen to in years dropping sticks and leaves and filling the yard with mulch, big piles of boulders she would not be able to lift without an invention. It was hopeless. 

“She’s not allowed to stop until she's done even if it takes all night and all of tomorrow,” He 

“Rightio.” The Hook-handed man dragged Violet past him and out the door. Count Olaf followed them slowly, leaning on the bannister and watching her go with a small wave.

“Enjoy the fresh air my pet, be careful not to stand against the wind, wouldn't want you to lose your modesty unnecessarily,” He smirked with a dark laugh rattling in his chest. 

——————

The Hook-Handed Man sat on the steps to the back door of the house, leaning against the handrail, bored. He had been watching the Orphan gardening for hours, and it was really not the most interesting gig. She had tied up her hair with some gardening twine (since Olaf had taken her ribbon earlier), and meticulously planned out what she had to do. She figured the best way to deal with her situation was to distract herself, by doing the job and doing it to the best of her ability. 

The big jobs first, such as the ivy, the pruning, so the mess it made would be part of the cleaning up afterward. She was not tall and not muscular, in fact the petite frame of Violet Baudelaire was not designed for chopping the thick ivy stems and yanking the offending plant down. He’d watch her throwing her weight behind the axe at each bundle of roots and tug the well-fixed ivy branches, tugging and tugging as though a little more strength would do it, but often found they just wouldn't come down. She had managed to break the rusty lock to a dilapidated looking shed with a rock, and found a few tools that could be of use. A large sweeping brush aided her in clearing the floor of fallen leaves and abandoned birds nests, long since fallen out of the dead looking tree. A spade had helped her start digging up the flower beds, devoid of any sort of living thing save for the odd worm she found. 

Count Olaf peered out the window from time to time, checking on her. He had to hand it to her, when given a task she really committed. The corner of his mouth flickered into a smile. This would be easier than he thought. 

By the time evening was drawing in, Violet had made significant headway into the garden, bagged up a lot of the waste and organised what needed to be removed. She had found a number of tyres and pieces of broken furniture, but it was mostly the usual, leaves, sticks, branches and mulch. She pondered if a bonfire would be a good idea, then thought better of it. The house was too close and she couldn’t risk it getting out of control. 

The Hook-handed man jumped to his feet when Count Olaf came to the door, wandering on to the porch with a glass of wine. “Has she given you any trouble?”

“Not a peep Boss,” He replied, almost sounding disappointed. 

“Good,” He muttered in reply as he descended the few stairs into the garden, if you could even call it that. With its concrete floor and high concrete walls it was more of a yard, albeit with long abandoned foliage. He stood over her for a while, watching her work with a small hand shovel turning over the earth and picking out rocks and roots into a pile. Her fingers were dirty and her fingernails were black, earth and dust clung to her forearms and her pretty pink dress was no longer as pink. She had undone the top two buttons at her collar, which he attempted to use to look down her dress, but it didn't really give enough to let him catch sight of anything. 

She stayed on her knees, ignoring his presence as she dug in the hopes he would simply check in on her, and leave. As much as she worried for Klaus and Sunny, she wasn’t entirely hating being outdoors and working the garden; especially as Count Olaf’s loyal dogsbody guard didn't antagonise her at all. After a few minutes, she took the bait, and shoving the trowel in the ground she stood, brushing her hands together. “What do you think so far?” 

He gave a small grunt and glanced around at what progress she had made. “You’re not exactly done.” 

Taking a deep breath in she tried to control her frustration. She had been working the best part of the day and it was well past dinner time, and that was all he could say? “I know that, but it will be, I just need some time.” 

Olaf emitted a low chuckle. “Take all the time you need. Here, you must be parched,” He said, offering her his glass. She leant forwards a little to peer into the glass. 

“Is that wine?” She asked tentatively. 

He slumped and rolled his eyes. “Its grape juice, designed to revitalise tired Orphans who have been gardening all day,” He quipped sarcastically, grabbing her wrist and shoving the glass in her hand. She gave it a cautionary sniff. 

Holding the glass back for him, she tried to ask tactfully, “I’d prefer water?” 

His features hardened, bending over slowly to loom right into her face, his nose almost touching hers when he finally replied. “And I’d prefer an Orphan who does as she’s told.” Violet winced, turning her head slightly to avoid the close proximity, giving him the false impression that she was submitting, when she was not. “Drink up.” 

Her tongue flicked on her bottom lip, unsure, but seeing little choice. It wast just wine, her parents had drank it all the time and it did smell sort of fruity. She brought the glass to her lips and sipped it, it was warm in her throat and her belly with a strong after taste that made her cough a bit. He nodded as he straightened and stood tall, observing her likely first experience of wine with delight. She swallowed another mouthful, getting used to the sensations and the way it burned, but not by temperature, it must be the alcohol, she considered. If it could be lit then it could burn. She paused after three sips, daring to look up at him with a pained expression. She didn't want the whole glass, as thirsty as she was it made her head feel little dizzy drinking it so quickly. 

Olaf motioned with his hand to keep drinking, so she did albeit unwillingly, until she tipped her head back and finished the last drop in the glass, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she stomach tried to reject the volume of wine that had been so quickly taken in. Holding out the empty glass, she tried to summon a polite smile. 

“Good girl,” He hummed, merrily taking the empty glass and slotting it between his fingers. “Your brother has dinner on the table. You may join us when you’re done. That is all.” He did a balletic spin on one foot to turn away and head back to the house. He smirked to himself knowing she would protest, and play right into what he wanted. He counted as he walked only reaching 3 before she called after him. 

“But I’m not going to be done tonight - “

“Then I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted, not looking back but simply waving his hand over her shoulder to carry on and not bother him anymore. Pausing in the doorway, he gave Hooky a kick to get back up and not sleep on the job. “If you think you’re going to fall asleep, swap with someone else. I don't want her sneaking in in the night or stealing any of those tools,” He muttered, smiling to himself at her defeated posture, how she stared up at the sky for inspiration, or prayer, before acquiescing and kneeling back down to her work.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Count Olaf had had a poor nights sleep, which made him extra irritable. His mind had been filled with thoughts of the Baudelaire fortune and how to get his hands on it, _on her_. He knew the plan had to involve her somehow, she was the eldest and most pliant, he told himself. Images flashed back to him unbidden, of her squirming in his arms as he wrenched her delicate panties from her hand. His footsteps fell heavily down the stairs as he found at least his morning coffee was was waiting on the dining table. He took the cup by the rim and drank the dark liquid, groaning at the bitterness in his stomach.

“Where’s Violet? She didn't come back last night?” The silence was splintered by Klaus walking in from the kitchen with Sunny on his hip, carrying a deep bowl of porridge in the other hand. He slid it onto the table, and sat Sunny on one of the chairs so he could demand answers from their Guardian.

Count Olaf rubbed his forehead tensely, the scratching sound of Klaus’s voice boring holes in his skill. “Rruughhh… are you always this annoying,” He grumbled, putting the coffee down and doing up his dressing gown. He wanted to go straight out to see her, but if her bratty brother was getting in the way then it would take longer and that was, inconvenient.

Klaus refused to let it drop. “Where’s Violet!”

“She’s been working,” Olaf informed him, if only to shut the boy up. “Luckily for her, I’m kind and generous enough to let her stop for breakfast, if you’d get on and cook it.” He grabbed Klaus by the shoulders and pushed him back towards the kitchen.

“I’ve already made porridge,” Klaus stumbled a few steps but turned back adjusting his glasses with one hand.

Olaf looked disgusted. “No-ones going to eat that slop. I want bacon and fried eggs and toast and tomato juice hand squeezed from fresh tomatoes -“ He headed toward the back door, annoying finding the boy following him. He fetched a jacket from the hook, pulled it over his bed-robe and plucked the keys from the box by the door. It wasn’t locked but he wanted Klaus to think that it had been. “Go…and…make…my…breakfast.” He growled and Klaus, heading outside and pulling the door shut behind him with a clatter.

The White-faced Women were sat on the steps playing cards, and grinned like a pair of more of less identical Cheshire cats when Olaf appeared. “What a fortunate start to the day,” One said, shuffling the cards to one side so he could step down between them.

“A visit from a very handsome man,” The other said.

“Yes how fortunate,” The first repeated.

Olaf stared at them, then shook his head. Even for him, they were an odd pair. He gazed from the vantage point of the steps around the small yard, not seeing her immediately, and a fear spiked in him. “Is she here?”

The second White faced woman stood and pointed to the leafless tree. “She’s behind that tree,” One quipped, smiling strangely at the other as they both ogled Count Olaf adoringly.

Olaf noted the lack of fallen leaves, his footsteps silent as he crossed the yard. “What are you doing? You’re meant to be working,” He snapped before he even got close to her, rounding the tree to find her sitting on the edge of a tyre fixing some pieces of wood together with rusty nails and using a rock for a hammer.

There were pieces of what looked to be a bird box sitting in her lap, the construction meticulous. She had her feet tucked round to one side, able to tuck her skirt in so it didn't flap in the wind and kept as much of her legs covered as she could. It had been cold over night and the chill hadn't yet left her. Her pale skin prickled with goosebumps, dark circles drawn under her eyes. The colour in them seemed to have been watered down overnight, the intensity gone from inside her. He smiled proudly.

“It’s a bird house,” She said softly, before coughing slightly and pressing her hand to her chest. “I found an old birds nest and, I thought … maybe they lost their home too,” She explained, her hands shivering in her lap as she poured over the pieces wondering if she had everything she needed to fit it all together. It gave her purpose, inventing something, giving old things life again. But she couldn't quite bind the images in her mind like she usually did. Her brain was sluggish and tired.

He huffed, folding his arms. “How sentimental.”

Violet glanced up and stared at the perfect spot on the trunk about 3/4 of the way up, where brackish branches intersected and the birds could hop out. “I wanted to hang it on this tree.” Moving her eyes to him, she asked him hopefully. “Could I?”

There delicate way she asked his permission caused a faint rumble in his groin. It had been a long time since any one had looked at him, the way her eyes begged him now. He shrugged it off, appearing nonchalant to her request. “If it pleases you.”

She smiled happily. The wind whipped through the yard and he pulled his jacket a little closer round his shoulders, but she just closed her eyes as the wind swayed her from side to side, already beyond the point of trying to do anything about how cold or tired she felt. She yawned, and sighed.

“Breakfast is on the table, should you wish to join me.” He held his hand out as invitation.

Her eyes snapped open again, biting her lip not quite hearing it. “I can stop?”

“For now,” He confirmed, flicking his fingers to beckon her up. She obliged, gathering the things from her lap to put them to one side, standing unsteadily. He wondered how long she had been curled up like this against the tree, for her dress to crease and an imprint of the tyre to be pressed into her leg.

She took his hand to balance herself, brushing the crumbs of bark from her side and behind. “Thank you. I’m starving actually,” She admitted, reaching behind her to pull the green string from her hair as the weight of her task lifted a little from her shoulders. He took her firmly round the waist, his hand nestling neatly into the curve between her waist and hip, walking her with him as he returned to the house. She held herself away, not wanting to be pressed into him quite as he was doing, but on the other hand she was glad of the support. She wasn’t sure how wobbly her legs were from two days and and a whole night continuous manual labour with not a moments sleep between them.

The White faced Women stood to the side as Count Olaf escorted her up the steps and through the door, feeling such conquest in his chest. She already had allowed him this closeness, this familiarity without comment. His plan to wear her down was succeeding better than expected.

Violet fell into step beside him, not feeling able or, not feeling it necessary right now to pull away. There was nothing malicious to the way he held her, and if she were to admit it, the warmth of human contact felt good compared to the cold loneliness that had settled in her bones after a night spent outside.

“You will sit by me,” He declared, manoeuvring her round a chair to his right and placing her in it.

She looked puzzled, glancing sideways at him and how he had arranged their chairs next to one another, those of her siblings and the hench-people flanking both sides of the table as normal. Olaf had always sat at the head of the table, holding court over his troupe and them, regaling them with stories while they were granted a short period to eat, before being ordered to clear up again.

When Klaus came out of the kitchen balancing the plates filled with bacon, eggs, toast, on one arm, a wedge of clean empty plates on his other, his eyes widened happily. “Violet!” He exclaimed, placing the plates down on the table and sliding them into the centre, practically running around behind the chairs to embrace her.

Violet stood to meet him, an unspeakable joy filling her at seeing him and that he was unhurt, but Count Olaf quickly stepped between them with a narrow eyed snarl. “Sit,” He ordered her, simultaneously grabbing Klaus by the back of his jumper and turning him round with a careless jolt. She swallowed, slowly sitting back down in her place.

“I just wanted to know she was okay,” Klaus said, deflated and sad. He was desperate to just hold her and tell her everything would be okay, like she always did for him. She held them together as a family and without her, everything was different. It had only been one night, but he had felt awful attempting to console Sunny that her big sister was okay, when in his heart he didn't believe it himself.

“You can see for yourself,” He gestured, then took a clean plate and plonked it before him with a rattle. Violet reached out for one too but he slapped her hand away. “Look how dirty your hands are, no,” He scolded.

Violet held her hands in front of her, he was right. Embarrassed, she slid them under her legs either side of her. Klaus was staring at them, horrified. She felt awful for him that he saw her being mistreated this way, knowing that in itself would hurt him. She didn't want him to feel like that; she had to try and play nice to Count Olaf. “Maybe if you’d let me quickly wash -“

“Then the food would be cold,” He snapped. He stabbed the fork into a few slices of grilled bacon, depositing them on his plate with a shake, then scooped on a generous pile of scrambled egg. He snatched up two pieces of toast and put them next to him on the table, grinning at Klaus as the crumbs made a mess.

“Tell your brother how _grateful_ you are that I’ve let you stop work,” Olaf crowed, leaning a hand on her shoulder and digging his fingers into her collarbone. He didn't look at her as he did it, just stared at the boy who was looking aghast, which only spurred Olaf on more. She tensed her shoulders but it didn't help, and really she didn't have the energy in her for such a display of arguing. She felt faint with hunger, and tired, and aching all over and had dirt in places there shouldn't be dirt. She just wanted them stop. “To be sitting beside me, sharing this sumptuous breakfast.”

She nodded, agreeing with whatever he said as she rubbed her eye tiredly with the heel of her hand. Just then, she jerked back, seeing a fork held in front of her with a small piece of bacon and some egg balanced on it. She peered up at Olaf, and he sort of jabbed it in her face again. Reaching to awkwardly take the fork from him, he grunted and held it out of her way. “What do you want …?” She sighed, not understanding and not caring to.

“I said sharing my breakfast, not taking my breakfast from me,” He said coolly, offering her the fork again. Violet turned to look at Klaus, who seemed to have it painted on his face, knowing what Olaf wanted but couldn't bring himself to say it. “Open up,” Olaf cooed, cupping his hand under her chin to catch anything that fell.

Her heart sank in humiliation. Why was everything a game, everything a chance to ruin any shred of dignity she had left? But he was offering her food and she was beyond starving, he had only given her wine the night before and she’d had those glasses of water during the day.

She had to eat.

She opened her mouth obediently and he fed her the bacon and eggs with a triumphant, gleeful smile. _God, she was beautiful like this_ , he thought, and despite the audience couldn't help himself but move his hand from under her chin to stroke her long, shiny hair and hum. “There now.”

Her eyes shut; she sighed as she chewed and swallowed the food, not caring if Count Olaf caressed her like a pet. It was food, it was warm and tasty and energy replenishing _food_. Klaus had done a good job, it tasted like their mother used to make, it tasted like home.

Olaf wasn’t done tormenting Klaus. It was only starting to get fun yet already had achieved so much. The girl was practically softening before him, see how she closed her eyes and encouraged his gentle touch? “Tell him, how much you are looking forward to _sleeping_ beside me, when you go to bed tonight,” He smiled, his touch slipping to the end of her hair just enough to tap her under the chin, telling her to look up at him.

Klaus stood frozen in alarm. “What?” He marched up to Olaf balling his fists at his sides, pointing at him aggressively. “Violet is not going to get into bed with you!” He looked helplessly at his sister, sitting behind Olaf with a meek expression, knowing the situation was probably foregone already. If Olaf wanted her to, there would be a way of forcing her, gently or not. “Thats just, its wrong!”

Count Olaf stretched his arm wide as he gestured to Violet, letting his hand come to rest between her shoulders as he spoke. “I think your sister should speak for herself. She alone can make the decision, to allow herself some rest, or to spend the night outside again.”

She wanted to be outraged, and she could feel it boiling inside her but something held it back, prevented it from coming to the surface. The internal struggle showed on her face, and when Olaf leaned down bringing his face to her cheek, his sharp cheekbones and long nose and piercing eyes made her fidget uncomfortably. She squeezed her eyes shut so as not to look at him. She couldn't … lay beside this man, have him close to her… what if he put his arm round her? What if he expected her to embrace him somehow? To feel his heartbeat next to hers, her back pressed into him, or to lay her head on his chest? “Violet…,” He breathed, his warning barely above a whisper so deep a growl she had to clench her thighs together as he drew that dark and shameful fluttering from between her legs.

“Yes,” Her lips moved, but her voice choked.

He put his hand to his ear, as if he hadn’t heard. “Yes?”

She slowly opened her eyes, finding them wet with unbidden tears she refused to let fall. Blinking them away, she pulled her shoulders back and nodded. “If you let me rest, and don’t …try anything, then I will sleep beside you,” She resolved, quietly making a decision that she knew would likely be the first of a string of poor decisions; but she was articulate and clear. She was strong, stronger than perhaps her brother would ever realise.

“I cant believe you would agree to this!” Klaus was spitting feathers.

Violet got up suddenly, scraping the chair back with her knees as she stood. She placed her hands flat on the table, willing him to understand something she knew he could not. “I’m not working all night in the cold, not again,” She explained, desperation tinting her voice. “I can’t.”

Count Olaf laughed slowly, evilly, his triumph containing within it an even better unforeseen benefit, of driving a potential wedge between the inseparable Baudelaire brats. He shifted his weight to stand closer to Violet, looping his arm around the girls waist for added agony. She felt herself nudged against him, his strong tight grip giving her little chance to move.

Klaus couldn't stand it. “You’re an evil, wretched man!”

Olaf shrugged, the boys judgement meaning little when he held the prospect of a hundred tantalising, teasing, beautiful experiences in the clutch of his hand. He beckoned the waiting Henchpeople in who had heard the raised voices and come to see what the commotion was about. “That may be, but I’m not the one stamping my foot with jealously,” Olaf snarked, alluding to something even Klaus thought Olaf could not stoop to. “Tonight, I will have your sister and her pretty little face all to myself,” He stroked her hair again, clearly wanting to make this touch a habit, a conveniently accepted gesture of control that she was meant to suffer through, if not agree to. Olaf flicked his head, nodding to the boy interacting with his troupe in a common non-verbal fashion. “Lock him in the attic until tomorrow, I don’t want _anything_ to spoil my night.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

For Violet, the day passed in slow, punctuated stills that only sought to torment her further. Like a factory worker whose life was ruled by the clock, she too checked the shadows and the suns position in the sky whenever she could, trying to determine how long she had before her punishment. 

The trouble was, she had agreed to it. Which left the blame squarely on her own shoulders, even if the ultimatum she had been delivered was an unreasonable one. Would a sensible person have opted for a second night labouring in the dark? Should she have chosen this toil as her punishment, to save her brother from a whole day and nights anxiety, images and thoughts too terrible to verbalise filling his mind and holding him in purgatory? 

She had been selfish, she reasoned. But she couldn't go back and alter it, for if she could there was a whole host of events she would change, such as their agreeing to take the trolley to Briney Beach and leave her parents home alone. Perhaps if she had been there, they could have gotten out their parents out together. Coughing from the smoke and wretchedly homeless, but none the less _together._  

Such contemplation was what her mind drifted to during these long hours, determined none the less to finish the garden to the best of her ability. It was becoming a source of pride for her, and was quietly pleased when the Bald Man had hefted the bags of garden waste out the door, hopefully to a recycling depot somewhere. She wondered if Olaf had ordered him to do this, when she watched from the other side of the yard as he laboriously took boulder after boulder, tyre after tyre out through the back door and returning for the next, muttering only to the Hook-Handed Man who sat on the steps guarding her. 

It was beginning to look like Olaf cared about the outcome of her garden too. 

She unfolded a small two step ladder she had found in the shed, positioning it carefully over the roots of the tree. Completed bird box in one hand, rock and nail in the other, she climbed up the ladder and balanced carefully on top of it, only a metre or so from the ground but enough she could reach the exact place she had planned for it to hang. 

She didn’t notice Count Olaf waltz down the back door steps, as she hammered her creation into place on the trunk of the tree. As two birds flitted between the branches dancing and hopping and watching what she was doing, she smiled at their freedom. “Hope you like it,” She said in a soft hopeful voice to the little birds. It was probably the thing she was most proud of in the whole garden.

“Here, let me help you down,” Olaf’s voice came from behind her, as she felt two hands on her hips. There was something so teasing about knowing she was up this ladder in his hands, and still without underwear. This daring secret, that only _he_ knew. If it had had a few higher steps he could’ve - He swallowed the thought and saved it for later. She wobbled on to the top of the ladder in surprise, holding her hand to the trunk of the tree for balance ass he turned to see him behind her. “Wouldn’t want you to fall, and mark that pretty face.”

She bit her tongue, preventing its retort. “…Thank you,” She managed, with as much politeness as she could muster. “Is it,” Her tongue rested between her lips as she asked. “Is it time?” 

His lips grew into a thin, knowing smile. “Come my pet,” He cooed, as she stepped down to the floor and subtly shook his grip from her hips. Instead he held out his hand for her to take, rescuing and sentencing her all at once. She would be done with her work, able to come in from the cold and hopefully be allowed a glass of water; but taking his hand would also condemn her to a worse fate.

Violet tentatively reached her hand out, but didn't take his. She stared at it, then up to him, with a hesitant, fearful expression. “Are you going to keep your promise?”

“I’m surprised you even have to ask,” He said, mocking her and playing insulted. Olaf waited, and gauged her reaction. He wasn’t the patient type but a few mores seconds wouldn't hurt if it guaranteed her compliance.

Slowly, she advanced her hand into his and nodded. “Okay.” 

Olaf chuckled a deep, victorious sort of laugh. Thrilled with himself with his forcing her not only to be willingly agreeing, but complicit in his plan made him feel a little dizzy with delight. He led her back inside the house and through the kitchen, the dining room, grinning at the Henchpeople who they passed here and there with all the preening of a proud celebrity. Violet wondered where her brother and sister were, if they were still locked in the attic room or if had them busy somewhere out of sight. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but she had to stay strong for them, which meant being strong now.

As they climbed the stairs to the first floor, the sense of foreboding in her stomach built. He squeezed her hand tighter the closer they got to the door, as if she would pull away at the last minute. But they had made an agreement. 

Count Olaf reached into his pocket to unlock his bedroom door, walking her in and only then letting go of her hand so he could turn and lock it again. They small brass key disappeared from sight before she could try and memorise what it looked like, hoping this might help her in the future. He smirked at her as he sauntered past, and she turned slowly, following him with her eyes wondering what was going to happen now. The last time she had been here she had turned the place upside down, and she was surprised to see the empty glasses and bottles had gone, the pile of laundry removed and his bed and been remade. “Nice to see you’re making an effort,” She commented, stepping after his cautiously. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling the need for a physical barrier as she felt his eyes on her. 

“The least I could do, when you’ll be making such an effort me,” He replied, producing a short silk camisole from behind his back and held it up in his fingers. It was quite pretty, dainty and detailed with a little lace over the bust and a small ribbon you could tie at the back. 

She didn't know where he had gotten such an item so quickly, or if it was leftover from a previous girlfriend, not that she could imagine Count Olaf having many lovers. “For me?” 

He advanced over to her and she instinctively stepped back, but he simply bundled the thing up and shoved it into her middle. “Put it on, Orphan,” He ordered firmly. “I might not have the best personal hygiene but look at you, you’re covered in dirt you smell like dead leaves.” 

“Thanks,” She muttered miserably. Violet eyed the bathroom door with hope. She didn't want to change in front of him. She bided her time, waiting, flicking her eyes back to him questioningly. 

He rolled his eyes and threw his arm up toward the bathroom, giving her permission. “Fine! Just don't take too long.” 

Violet filled her chest with an elated breath, pleased with how he was so far being kinder than expected. She hurried into the small bathroom and pressed the door shut behind her. Undoing the buttons at the front of her dress, she was about to shed herself of the sweaty garment when she remembered that there might be a door between them, but nothing was stopping him from coming in unannounced. She turned her back to it just in case, and peeled the dress off, dropping it to her ankles. She kicked her shoes off at the same time, then her socks, till she was just left in her bra which she unhooked quickly. The quicker she could change the less chance he would ambush her. She bent over to pick up the silk nightdress, then thought about something. 

He had a working shower. Violet stared at the closed door, then back at the shower and the temptation of warm water soothing her muscles. She could bet there was something in the way of soap in that little cupboard too. 

She stared at herself, and her naked torso in the mirror. Could she do this selfish thing, and make him wait? Could she risk it? 

Boldly, she stepped into the small square shower cubicle and turned the water on. It sputtered out the shower head in bursts, before getting its flow and pouring soothing hot water all over her, dousing her from the head down in its clean waters. 

She heard his voice yell from the bedroom. “I didn't say you could shower!” 

“Too late!” She called back, fetching a few bottles from the cupboard quickly closing the cubicle doors around her, the sound of the water stifling her giggle. She blinked through the stream of water to see what they were. She placed the bottles in the corner of the shower keeping only one, which held some long out of date shower cream to squirt it onto her palm and rub the pleasant smelling lotion over her skin. It felt utterly wonderful to be able to wash all of herself at once, not just stand at the sink with a cloth like they had been forced to do. She closed her eyes as she ducked her head under the water and washed the cream off, rubbing her hands up and down each arm, over her chest and down her belly to her hips as the bubbles ran away down her skin. Her hand paused at the apex of her thighs. 

This would be the first time she had shared a bed with a man. Did this make her any more a woman, and less a girl? 

Smearing the water from her eyes she shook the thought from her head. She shouldn't take too long, lest his patience wear thin. She quickly doused her hair with shampoo, rubbing it in and massaging her scalp in deep waves, before rinsing it out quickly. Turning the shower off, she scrunched her hair together to squeeze out excess water, and pulled the doors apart snatching a towel from the rail. She wrapped it around herself and smeared a window in the fog on the mirror. _You're strong, Violet. You’re in control_. She stared at herself in the mirror and repeated the words in her mind. 

After pressing the towel to her face, rubbing her arms, chest and hips, down her legs and between with it, she faced the prospect of dressing up for him. The camisole was sitting on the floor where she had left it and turning it this way and that, bunched it up and slipped it over her head. The light material fluttered down over her slim body, a slight ‘V’ over the chest and ending nearer her hips than her knees, shorter than she would choose, but enough that the essentials were covered. 

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. She had never worn such a thing before, and it indeed made her appear, and feel more womanly. _Sexy._ The idea made her shudder, him looking at her in that way. Violet didn't have long to think on what it would feel like, because a second later the bathroom door tugged open and Count Olaf was standing in its frame, undressed save for some button down pyjama bottoms. 

A wicked smile grew across his lips at the sight of her. “Suits you,” He said a in low, mellow complimenting tone. Her stomach tensed, her eyes falling to the floor. “Don’t look so ashamed with yourself, you’re a pretty girl.” 

A betraying warmth fluttered between her legs, and she tensed. _Stop saying that._

“I’m tired,” She stated quietly, hoping this would give him impetus enough to move, get this over with, but also bring the long awaited sleep she had been craving. Olaf stepped to one side of the doorway, waving his arm in a loop gesturing her toward the bed. She did a small nod as she passed by him, touching her fingers to the back of the camisole trying to make sure it was long enough that it needed to be at the back. 

At the edge of the bed she paused, and glanced back at him. Which side was his? Was there not any stupid games planned? Would he really let her just, sleep? She noticed the bottle of wine by the beside, and two glasses. One already half empty. 

“Don’t be shy,” He murmured. She felt him right behind her, and gasped a little. He reached past her to pull the covers back. “In you get.” With nowhere to go, trapped between Olaf’s body and the bed, she did as she was told, turning and sitting down. He marvelled at her, sat so neatly almost between his legs already. He inched forwards so his thighs were leant against the bed, her knees between his and forcing her to lean back on her hands a little for the way his body loomed over hers. 

Violet glanced up then, a tightness in her chest and a flash of anxiety in her eyes that made him burn. He traced a single finger slowly down her cheek, along her jaw and under her chin, tipping her head up a little more. Her lips parted slightly, heat escaping in her soft breaths. She felt herself softening, her breath coming in shallower pants as she squeezed her thighs together shamefully. _No._

Those big doe-eyes were gazing at him, with an imperceptible mixture of emotions. He tilted his head to one side, something curious about her in this moment, he had not seen before. “Are you feeling alright, my pet?” He asked gently. What was going on with her? 

She tore her gaze from him and batted his touch away. “I’m just tired.” Shimmying her legs up onto the bed and tucked herself quickly under the covers before anything could be seen, and flopped onto the pillow resolutely. 

Olaf frowned, tossing the covers over her. “Yes you’ve said that.” He downed the half glass of wine and moved round the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers and moving close behind her. 

Before he had the chance to reach for her, she rolled over and glared at him. “Don’t.”

He leant up on his arm, annoyed. “Why do you _always_ fear the worst?” He growled, his hand smacking the bed covers making her jump. “You’re not irresistible. Pretty, sure. But your personality needs a bit of work.” 

She stared at him incredulously. “Are you always this charming to women sharing your bed?”

“Once they’re in my bed I don't need to be,” He explained with a frustrated snap. “We’re generally too busy to talk.” A self impressed chuckle escaped his chest. 

Violet fluffed the pillow and lay her head back down. “We’re not going to talk and we’re not going to be … _busy_ either.” She rolled away turning her back to him, bringing her knees up inadvertently curling as small as she could. 

“Yeeeees,” He drawled. “You’ve made that quite clear.” 

She heard him click off the light. “Good night,” She said quietly. There wasn't much of a response. 

Violet wasn’t sure how long she lay awake. She tensed at every creak of the bed behind her, every time he shifted, his legs moved, or his breathing altered. How quickly would he fall asleep? Could she trust him enough, to let herself fall asleep? These and a hundred over questions plagued her; but the pillow was soft, and the sheets clean, and the warmth of another body behind her was enough to keep the cold at bay, and her body succumbed before she had the chance to fight it. Violet fell asleep, into a soundless rejuvenating sleep. 

Some hours later, it must have been for it was dark outside and equally as dark in Count Olaf’s bedroom, Violet woke to an unfamiliar sensation. Olaf had shimmied closer to her, his head on the pillow behind hers, his slow, rhythmical breathing against her back. She shifted a little, testing where he was. Olaf was pressed behind her, his chest to her back, his legs tucked around hers, and more worryingly, his hand nestled on the curve between her hip and waist. 

She didn't dare move. But she was sure his hand was not on the nightdress, but on her skin. Had it rucked up that much over her hips? Her heart hammered fearfully, the very idea of it dangerous. Violet tried to look over her shoulder at the sleeping form of Count Olaf. She slipped her weight and without meaning to, rolled onto her back. She froze, not wanting to wake him. 

Olaf murmured incoherently, adjusting slightly and moving his hand across her waist now his purchase point had gone. He carried on sleeping, unaware of his companions wakeful state. Violet released a thankful breath. Opening her eyes again, she sucked her lips in and turned her head a little, just enough she could see him. His slack, relaxed features, eyes lightly closed and mouth just barely open, as if thinking of something. He seemed different like this, without the hard frowning lines across his forehead, or the snarl to his lips. She wondered how old he actually was; whether the abundance of hair and his peculiarly long sideburns, or fluff on his chin aged him older than he really was. 

There was a strange sort of loneliness to him, the way he held her in his arms and had curled himself close. Violet didn’t know how to feel about the proximity, her own heartbeat slow and steady, chiming in close quarters with Olaf’s. He shifted again, as one does in ones sleep, and she took the opportunity to try and roll away, but he hooked himself tighter to her and in doing so moved his hand just so and brushed lightly where he should not, before settling on her lower abdomen. 

She gasped, that deep aching she had started to feel only recently, suddenly exploded in her belly. The weight of his hand between her hips, as lifeless as it was suddenly felt heavy, and too close, _too close_ to where it shouldn’t be. Her breathing hitched as she stared at the ceiling and waited for the feelings to go away, but all she could feel was him. Around her, next to her, on her, the smell and scent and feeling and weight of Count Olaf beseeched her and she balled her fists at her sides. _How dare he do this to her?_ She winced, watching him as she desperately tried to move her hips without him noticing. To press her thighs together and move her legs back and forth slightly, to give herself some friction. She had used to stuff the duvet between her legs, cross her ankles and practice on it, though she knew nothing of what she was doing. It had come to her unbidden in the night, as puberty hit and hormones had raged and she was alone in her bedroom. 

But this was altogether different, and those feelings were not without a source. 

Olaf sensed the movement next to him and half-woke, mumbling. “Go back to sleep Orphan.” He resettled himself, even in this sleepy state was aware of the lack of nightdress, and easily found the edge of it tucking his hand underneath the material. Violet gasped at his touch, how his fingers tickled her ribs and belly and then swore under her breath at her own reaction. “Don’t start complaining, its just a hug …,” He murmured, practically nuzzling into her neck as he yawned, trying to get back to sleep. 

She lifted one knee up and adjusted her position, wondering if his knee would fall between her own in an innocent sort of fashion. It didn't work, and she whined softly. There was _nothing,_ and she had all these feelings, feelings she didn't understand that ached between her legs and wracked her mind to come up with an answer. Her heart hammered in her chest. She would never be able to sleep, she couldn't lie awake and wait for it to go away, he was there and on her and touching her even benignly, and making it worse. 

With a trembling hand, she put it over Count Olafs hand, and pushed it down from where he held around her. “What are you -“ He yawned again, waking more properly and starting to open his eyes.  He tried to move his hand back but she held onto him, and against her better judgement, pushed it down between her legs. “Oh…” He blinked himself to consciousness. 

Violet couldn't speak. She couldn't utter it. But she held his hand there, over the softness that covered her most intimate, untouched place. She sucked her lips in as tears wet her eyes. She had no idea what she was doing, and she didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about what was outside this moment, this room, the house, her siblings or the fortune or their captivity. She just wanted to feel _more,_ of whatever this was. 

Olaf raised his long eyebrow with a curious gleam in his eye. “Well well,” He murmured, a deep rumble from his chest. His eyes took her in slowly, searching her body for answers to this peculiar situation. Her chest was rising and falling with jagged breaths, her back arched just slightly, one knee drawn up and a wanting shift of her hips that suggested what she could not say. He moved his fingers over her centre, testing to see if this was indeed real, and not a dream. 

Violet gasped and her hips moved to his touch, with some urgency. She took one hand from his to wipe frustrated emotional tears from her eyes. She didn't know why there were tears even there, she wasn’t sad or upset or thinking about anything right now. Her other hand, still over his encouraged him to do it again. Her mouth was dry and her mind confused, but she knew what he kindled in her felt _good_. 

He explored her folds slowly, gently massaging his fingers around her opening, up and down and round her clit, silently learning what she wanted. “You wont be able to take this back,” He warned, spreading his palm so his thumb circled around the sensitive bed of nerves, his fingers curling and knuckles brushing themselves over her opening, teasing her with what he could do. 

She nodded, sniffing as she finally moved her eyes to hold his gaze. “Do it.” 

Olaf placed a gentle, understanding kiss on her shoulder and he plunged his finger inside her. She yelped with the force of it, the sudden crash of sensations washing over her. He wasted no time in starting to pump up a rhythm, pleased with how wet and welcoming she already was, thrusting his now two fingers in and out of her. She was tight, her body was tense and not letting him move inside her very much. His jaw clenched, grunting with the frustration of it. He wanted to feel every inch of her, create a moment for her she would not be able to deny in the morning. He felt himself stir in his pyjamas, and the desire to possess her rose exponentially. 

He wanted her to blush every time he looked at her for a second longer than normal, and feel this, his fingers fucking her tight wet centre and that _she_ had initiated it. “You need to relax,” He growled, shifting his weight to press on his arm and up on his knees, leaning over her to give him full range of movement in his arm. 

She shifted in a panicked motion beneath him, staring at him in horror. There was something hard pressing against her leg from his pyjamas. She wondered if she was making a big mistake, if he was going to push her further to places she didn't want to go.“Don’t - !” 

Olaf shot her frustrated look. “If you want to get, what you _clearly_ need from this then calm, down,” He instructed firmly, angry at her constant fear of him. Though really, who could blame the girl? He had instilled that fear and given her and her siblings every reason to hate him, dishing out fickle punishments and nasty insults at every turn. It had been such fun to torment them, to catch that glimmer in her eyes. 

He hadn’t expected this. 

She nodded, taking a few controlled breaths in and out, fisting the bedsheets in her hands. He hummed, feeling her body relax slightly and let him in, allowing a deeper more penetrating rhythm to be had. It was easy for him to control her pleasure, she was so sensitive and fit neatly in his hand, grinning to himself when her flicked her clit and she bucked and bit her bottom lip with a groan. The sounds she created spoke right to his groin, and he winced, containing his own _increasingly urgent_ desires in favour of hers. 

Violet listened to her body, slowly shedding the last sliver of doubt as she arched her back, her eyes blurring as he built her up. Something was happening. It was as if she couldn't take it anymore. 

Her knees bent and scrabbled a little on the bed as her breathing came in short pants and she whined through the sensations wracking her body. She shook her head, _no, no more, I cant do it, I cant -_ before something inside her snapped, and she felt her body give in to him and his ministrations, her hips grinding down on to him as she felt something warm and wet squeeze from between her legs, coming over his fingers. 

Olaf smiled to himself in the dark. He gave her a minute or two before sliding his fingers out her wetness, careful not to nudge her when she would be very sensitive. He knew enough about women to know that. 

She heaved a heady breath as her legs and arms went limp on the bed, her eyes falling shut as she came down. “Ohh …,” She breathed slowly. Her cheeks burned red, even the darkness he could see that. 

He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them indulgently. “That was a surprise.” He pushed up onto his knees before flopping onto his side, lying next to her enjoying the sight of her trembling body recovering from his work. “I take it you’re not going to reciprocate?”

His words struck her in the chest. “What..?” 

Olaf gestured with both hands to his hips, where his trousers were held up by a rather painful looking erection. He gave her a look that should have made his desire obvious, but she recoiled in disgust. “No! God - I’m not - “ She fretted, her eyes glancing worriedly to his then, anxious that such a sharp rejection would not received well considering he had just obliged her so beautifully. 

Instead he just huffed, “Didn’t think so.”

Violet stared at him, uncertainty staining her features. What she had just experienced for the first time, the man who had given it to her, how incredible he had made her feel in that moment, and the guilt that she felt now… _should_ she feel guilty? Was it wrong to have wanted that? To let him, no .. _ask_ him? 

She didn't want to feel guilty for taking something from this wretched situation for herself. To have  a moment in the madness, that was just hers. Where her mind fell silent, and sensations took her out of her body, suspended her and bathed her in nothingness. She didn't want what they had done together to be wrong. 

As Olaf rolled over, fishing himself out his pyjamas into his hand, he excused himself quietly. “Don’t mind me…,” He muttered, as a slap-slap-slap sound filled the silence in the room. 

Violet looked away, needing to squeeze her eyes shut just in case. She didn't want to see that. 

Olaf pumped himself under the covers, holding the image of her in his mind. Repeating the sounds she had made in his head, those sounds he had caused her to release. The dark and twisted beauty of her needing release and coming to him for that. With such unbridled thoughts it didn't take him long, and after an agonised groan he flopped back onto his side on the bed with a sigh. Within moments he flapped the covers and rolled himself over, reaching for her again. 

This time she didn't pull away, and let him draw her close. He wrapped his arm over her and held her back to him, trapping her there under his arm. She closed her eyes and nestled there, bound together in moments that could not, _perharps_ not… to be repeated. “Olaf?” She whispered, praying he wasn’t asleep yet. 

“Mmm?” He managed to reply. She had never said his first name before, just on its own, without the fierce emotions that usually poured out of her. It was gentle, and he warmed to the sound of it from her lips.

“Will you tell Klaus?” She asked softly through the darkness. His husky chuckle said everything she needed to know. “Please … please don’t,” She begged. Violet was the eldest, her brother not even a teenager and she knew he would never understand. She didn't want to think it had been traumatic, that something awful had happened to her. That Olaf had … She rolled onto her back and made him look at her. “Olaf,” She pressed her hand to his chest, saying his name again. 

His eyes half-closed and he moaned at the sound of it. He drew a long breath into his lungs and forced himself to concentrate for a few more minutes. If he played it right, he knew that the world of possibilities he had imagined the night before were becoming temptingly close. “Do you want me to do it again?” 

“I don’t know,” Violet admitted. She didn't understand what it meant yet, this experience. But she knew what it had felt like, and shameful as it was to admit, she had liked it. He waited at first, then impatiently reached his hand to her, cupping her hipbone in his palm. Violet felt her chest tighten;  even this small motion had her breath hitching a little and her fingers press into his chest more. _Fuck him_. 

He smiled knowingly, brushing his touch between her legs again, this time without need for invitation. She closed her eyes, her hips moving of their own accord, urging against his fingers. He might already know her answer but she didn't care to see his bragging smile. “Yes,” She breathed, answering his question finally. 

“Then your secret, as well as your virginity, _are mine_.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, the kudos and comments all! 
> 
> If you would like more, there is a part 2 - Strong Minds, Weak Hearts. I couldn't put it in a hyperlink, but the link to copy and paste is here, if you would like :)
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154046/chapters/42929006


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